


Jockeying For Position

by Ringshadow



Series: Dynamic Factors [11]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agent Emmit is a pretty pretty pony, Idiot villains, M/M, Phil is under a lot of stress and trying to manage it, Various OCs - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2015-04-16
Packaged: 2018-03-23 04:30:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3754639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ringshadow/pseuds/Ringshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SHIELD is out of space and Phil's people are packed in tight, but that does make it easy for him to learn about them as they recover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jockeying For Position

"I turned a floor of my building into a barracks! A barracks, Phil!"

  
  
Phil didn't even look up from packing up some of his sewing supplies. "I note you're bitching about that, not about the fact that you're housing a bunch of people related to other people that nearly killed you, Happy, Pepper and Rhodes several times over."

  
  
"Degrees of separation, man, none of these people were involved with that. They were some second batch and most of them were in, like, Africa when everything happened." Tony wove his hands in total dismissal. "JARVIS is helping them monitor and I took apart some of those abominable fuckin smart watches and turned them into temp trackers for them."

  
  
Phil paused and stared at Tony. "The apple watch isn't out yet."

  
  
Tony just stared at him.

  
  
"I'll just assume you mean some other smart watch and that you didn't steal early models from apple."

  
  
"Smart watches are stupid." Tony took a bite of a banana he'd stolen without shame from Phil's banana hanger.

  
  
"On this we agree. I always wanted James Bond's magnet watch from Live and Let Die." He considered a roll of lacey antique ribbon. "What do you think, too frilly for an AIM soldier?"

  
  
"What are you planning?" Tony was intrigued. "I can buy them white ribbons or whatever you know. I can buy them an entire boutique of ribbons and collars."

  
  
"Not the point. Why do you hate having a barracks? We're going to move out eventually and with all the shit going down, having space to store people might be good."

  
  
Now he peered at Phil. "Move out? And go where?"

  
  
To that, he had no answer.

* * *

  
  
It was a huge problem.

  
  
It was a chicken vs egg argument. Did villains come to New York because heroes were there, or vice versa? Either way the small eastern states seemed to be the center for a lot of bullshit. Nothing ever happened in fucking Seattle and Phil didn't care what bullshit Green Arrow was spouting today.

  
  
Phil's picky about his archers.

  
  
The point is SHIELD is too much for Avengers tower. Before the LMDs, before the super soldiers, it was alright. Housing was expensive and difficult but, they got by. Now they'd gained over a hundred heavy hitters that needed proper care and housing, and Phil was out of the latter. Even with the Ravers and Agent Emmet (who was learning to walk again) staying in Tony's lab and Canis crashing on Steve's living room rug, it was a stupid situation.

  
  
Even gaining a fifth floor as a barracks that now housed the AIM soldiers and a few LMDs that had made peace with their superheated roomies, they were taking up a lot of Stark's real estate. Phil felt greedy because even with all that space it wasn't enough and there was nowhere to expand to.

  
  
No one wanted to rent them housing. Their local headquarters was a total loss, as was Boston, DC, and Newport News. The only way they'd get room to breathe was to leave New York, leave the east coast, and head for the Midwest. Plenty of room for aforementioned Ravers to roughhouse and a horse to run but hours of flight time away from where the action usually was. Which might be alright if they kept a small force here, and moved their bulk elsewhere.

  
  
Anywhere they went they'd be a target.

  
  
This frustrating chain of thought had resulted in Phil cutting himself shaving while staring blankly in a mirror until JARVIS had spoken up, cueing Clint to step in and freak out because Phil had disassociated, just a little bit.

  
  
Who could blame him if he struggled to sleep sometimes and drew lines and circles and dots on the glass door of his shower to scratch the alien itch in his brain?

  
  
He hadn't wanted or needed Clint's worry right then but had suffered Clint patching him up with grace. The cut didn't look so bad, hours later.

  
  
He's in jeans and a Captain America t-shirt because this isn't about work, this is about his submission, and this is about centering himself and maybe helping a few others too. So he's wearing a pair of his cloth manacles, the ones in ivory ribbon and blue that brought out his eyes, with the ribbon slave ring. He carried a small storage bin of his sewing supplies as he stepped out of the elevator and into the barracks.

  
  
Strangely satisfying to see it was, in fact, a barracks. The renovation was done and beds were lined up, but with large enough dressers to actually keep shit in instead of footlockers and all the linens were personal. He found himself smiling around at My Little Pony blankets and Transformer pillows. The kitchen was large enough to be communal and a good bit of space was budgeted for entertainment. The bathrooms were locker rooms with floor to ceiling shower stalls because hey, a little bit of privacy was nice.

  
  
They had two TVs now with two Xboxes, both running Halo head to head. Most of the group was coalesced around that, and Phil drifted that way, making sure to make noise as he moved. The gentle rattle of rolls of ribbon in the box was enough; the red head in charge of the AIM soldiers paused the game and looked up.

  
  
_Have to stop calling them AIM soldiers_ , Phil thought. _They're my employees now_.

  
  
"Don't let me interrupt. I wanted to come hang out a bit, get to know you all casually. That okay?"

  
  
"Yeah. That's okay, sir." The redhead, Joshua, nodded slowly.

  
  
Phil stepped around the cluster of sofas and beanbags and sat on the floor at the coffee table, taking a bottle of water out of his box and gesturing for the game to continue. After a few moments, it did.

  
  
It was easy to just listen to the group around him and absorb their dynamic, and he felt himself smiling. These people had clearly been hardened into a group for survival and protection but this was like when the Avengers were in the rumpus room: this was nothing but family. There was a lot of laughter and shit talk, and he could tell his tired strained soldiers were on the road to recovery.

  
  
Even with them regulating well he's learning what to look for. They're all thin and muscular, the enhancement burning through calories like a furnace. The veins at their temples and around their eyes will show the orange first, when they're startled or emotional, a flush as long as a heartbeat. They don't hold onto cold drinks because those drinks won't be cold much longer if they do.

  
  
Just soldiers. Just a different kind of soldiers. People in his care and willing to try to trust him. He's already rebuffed nearly every American agency and research center who has approached SHIELD, wanting to study the dangerous secrets these soldiers held in their bodies.

  
  
They are victims, Phil reminded those people. They are victims, they were used, and it is not my right to use them again. We will never put these few under the knife no matter how much you think it will benefit the many.

  
  
"Is that ribbon? Sir?" A female soldier asked. She was sitting behind and to his right, waiting for her turn with a controller.

  
  
"Yes. I sew as a hobby." He shrugged a bit, not missing that all of them had perked up to listen. "I could ask, and buy you what you need, of course. But I can do simple fabric and leather things, and it feels like it'd mean more for me to do it." He glanced around at them.

  
  
"You have to have better things to do than sew collars for foot soldiers sir." Joshua said eyes on the screen.

  
  
"Oh I have plenty to do. But better or more important? I could argue that."

  
  
Ten minutes later he had antique lace gently around the neck of one of the soldiers, just to measure length. The kid barely looked old enough to be recruited let alone a vet that had been injured and gotten into this and the creamy lace was stunning against dark brown skin. Phil told him so and ended up finding a narrow ribbon that was close to his skin color, running that along the center of the lace on the back as reinforcement and as an anchor on the back for a catch.

  
  
Not everyone was interested of course, but he found himself in a meditative clear headspace that felt a lot like subspace as he took his time hand stitching together simple manacles and collars. Nothing fancy, but he supposed they didn't need to be. They just seemed to appreciate that he was here and making the effort.

  
  
It was, all in all, a very peaceful way to spend an afternoon and early evening. Eventually a few people went to the kitchen to see about getting food together and Phil worked on finishing up a wide grey and white collar with pearlescent button accents.

  
  
"Thank you. You took a lot of your personal time to do this." The girl he's making the grey collar for is sitting on the floor with him, watching his hands. She's one of those rare true neutrals, her dom/sub numbers absolutely equal or within less than a percent variance and she had told him she liked the fashion of collars and grey communicates her neutrality nicely.

  
  
"I like to take care of my people, and I wanted a better sense of who you all are." Phil replied, checking how secure his button accents are. "I need something to call you all. I keep saying AIM soldiers in my head and that's not right, you're SHIELD now."

  
  
"Hot soldiers." Joshua shrugged. "Short, true and differentiates us. Like a weapon or explosive being hot, armed, thus so are we."

  
  
"If that is what you prefer I'll use that." He gave the grey collar to the female soldier and helped her fasten the hook in eyes. "How's that feel?"

  
  
"Perfect. Thank you."

  
  
He smiled and worked on packing up his sewing gear. "If anyone else wants something, let me know and I'll have something to work on in meetings."

  
  
"Oh, here!" The dark skinned soldier bounced over and handed him a bright red macramé bracelet. "I had some parachute cord."

  
  
Phil was honestly delighted and let the soldier put the bracelet on him over one of the manacles. "Thank you. Enjoy your dinner, I won't interrupt further."

  
  
They tried to invite him to dinner but he politely declined and retreated to the elevator, humming happily on the elevator and closing his eyes, assessing himself. He was relaxed and satisfied; pleased with his own work and now he was going home to his dom.

  
  
He was damn near in subspace when he walked into his apartment and smelled roast beef and vegetables, a ridiculous cacophony of noise coming from the living room. He set the container aside and padded in, curious then laughing.

  
  
His Nintendo was still plugged in and Skye and Clint were going head to head in Mario Kart, trash talking constantly and eyes riveted to the screens.

  
  
"Sit and spin, Hawkass." This was accompanied by Skye firing off a blue shell.

  
  
"Shit shit shit..!"

  
  
Phil sat on the floor and leaned on Clint's legs, chuckling when Clint sort of one-handed the controller to rub the other hand over his hair.

  
  
"Hey, AC. Where you been all day?" Skye asked, eyes not moving from the game.

  
  
"Hanging out with the hot soldiers. I sewed collars for a few of them. They're doing better."

  
  
"Hot soldiers. Is that what we're calling them now?" Clint asked, trying to recover from his blue shelling.

  
  
"Yes, new official term. JARVIS, can you add that to our definition procedure?"

  
  
"Yes, Director Coulson. 'Hot Soldier,' a soldier who has received AIM's extremis procedure."

  
  
"Good man. Thank you."

  
  
"Nice bracelet." Skye noted, and then Clint looked when Phil held up his wrist.

  
  
"One of the hot soldiers made it for me after I made him a white ribbon. Ben, I think."

  
  
"It was indeed Benjamin Brady, sir, goes by BB among the others." JARVIS supplied.

  
  
"So two subs made each other jewelry." Clint wasn't sure if that was cute or the start of a soft-core porn or both, though the game kept him from thinking much about it as he finished the race in first, blue shell or not.

  
  
"Yeah. We did." Phil half smiled. "They seem normal enough but there is an intense edge to them."

  
  
"Like when the red eyes go idle and don't realize that their absolute stillness is kind of uncanny valley?" Skye asked.

  
  
"Similar. It’s more that the air is always tense around them. Like they're always waiting for a fight even if they're playing games." Phil frowned. "That might be PTSD and hypervigilance being intensified by what they are."

  
"So far they're pretty low demand." Clint was waiting for Skye to choose the next track and laughed when she picked Rainbow Road. "Oh bring it on girl."

  
  
"I have every shortcut memorized."

  
  
"So do I."

  
  
"Should I be worried about this friendship?" Phil asked, then smiled when they both mussed his short hair.

* * *

  
  
"Sir, Agent Emmet is wondering if you have time to come down to Stark's lab."

  
  
Phil looked up from his work station and the endless tickers. Quinn had resurfaced, and was basically flipping them off from just out of legal reach. Phil was admittedly amused but had added Quinn to his fucking-worried list (somewhere near the middle). "I can make some time. Is he feeling better?"

  
  
"Much, sir."

  
  
Phil drained his coffee and stood, grateful for the reason to stretch his legs if nothing else.

  
  
Stark's lab was busy and crowded these days. The LMDs had become extra hands for Stark and Banner that didn't bat an eye at conditions humans would be hurt by and frankly most of them were bored anyway, so projects flew forward at a breakneck pace. The Ravers were stretched out relaxed in Stark's suit gallery, one delicately repainting another's head tribal.

  
  
"Director." The one with the tiny brush said. It looked like a toothpick held by salad tongs.

  
  
"Emmet wanted to talk to me."

  
  
"He's in the test lab sir." The Raver gestured with its brush.

  
  
Phil followed the gesture, stepping through a large doorway and stopping.

  
  
Emmet was no longer a damaged modern art statue of a horse. When Phil had first seen him he'd been dirty grey and barely functioning, now he was cremallo, shining and golden and dynamically alive in the mechanical backdrop of the lab. Someone had rigged a huge treadmill and Emmet was trotting on it, though he slowed to a stop when he saw Phil, ears perking. "Director Coulson, sir!"

  
  
"Well, you are looking much better." Phil walked over and gave him an appraising eye, chuckling when Emmet tossed his mane and arched his neck. "You prefer that form don't you?"

  
  
"Are you kidding? Girls never get enough of me now." Emmet stepped off the treadmill, shaking off. Close up, Phil saw a flurry of tiny hatches lift, vent heat, and close. "I want to stretch my legs and I'm willing to bet you do too. Want to take me for a ride to Central Park and back?"

  
  
Phil let out a surprised laugh. "I do know how to ride but I have no idea how legal it would be."

  
  
"Well it's a good thing I'm not really a horse." Emmet managed to quirk an eyebrow.

  
  
"Oh you're a troublemaker. Lovely. Got a saddle?"

  
  
Horse tack was somewhat beyond Stark's standard scope of manufacture so he'd just ordered some in. And it was some of the most ridiculous parade and show level tack Phil had ever seen. Beads and chains and tassels, like a neon sign screaming I AM AN ARABIAN LOOK AT ME.

  
  
"Not sure now I feel about your bling, Emmet." Phil admitted, hefting the saddle onto his back. Somehow, impossibly, the ridiculous saddle had the SHIELD eagle on the sides.

  
  
"I'll feel pretty if I want to sir."

  
  
Phil had to admit that it was nice to have a horse that gave him feedback on cinching straps if nothing else and in about fifteen minutes was leading Emmet by his ridiculous reins to the freight elevator. "Anyone asks I'm saying I'm breaking in show gear."

  
  
"Of course sir." The bit didn't seem to bother Emmet's ability to speak. Possibly there was a speaker in his mouth and the tongue there wasn't employed for linguistics. That was probably the case now that Phil was thinking about it.

  
  
"You have an undercover name?"

  
  
"I used to have false lineage paper backed by various foundations complete with bloodline but it has me as pale grey." Emmet chuffed.

  
  
"We'll get it fixed. Need a new one now?" Emmet nodded, various bling jingling as he did. "How about, Challenge Coin?"

  
  
Emmet turned his head to look him full on as the elevator slowly descended. "Challenge Coin?"

  
  
"Your color reminds me of new coins or pirate doubloons. It'd be a little nod to our paramilitary nature."

  
  
"Hm. That's actually a fairly solid show name sir." He considered. "Then what's my household name?"

  
  
"HAL."

  
  
Emmet burst into whinnying laughter. "I like it. Done."

  
  
The elevator opened and Phil led Emmet through the lobby, his horse hooves making a racket on the expensive floors. Security opened a side door as the revolving doors weren't going to work and Phil swung into the saddle once outside.

  
  
Probably a surreal picture, a middle aged man in a suit sitting on the equine version of a pimpmobile.

  
  
He rarely took his earpiece off these days, and he smiled when Emmet's voice came from it. "Central Park, sir?"

  
  
Phil clicked and chucked the reins lightly, and Emmet moved.

* * *

  
  
Horses were actually not uncommon in New York, between cops and carriages, so Phil was able to ride somewhat safely alongside or amongst traffic. Really, Emmet was almost the ideal vehicle, small quick and responsive, able to avoid traffic and potholes. He was also a head turner.

  
  
And clearly in better spirits, as his response to a honking taxi was to deliberately turn and sneeze on the windshield. The horse boogers had to be synthetic but they made a smudgy disgusting mess as the increasingly perplexed driver hit the washer fluid. The driver's fare appeared to be laughing hysterically in the back seat, which was good because that was exactly what Phil was doing, leaning over Emmet's neck trying to breathe around his laughter.

  
  
They actually got all the way to the park without any real incident, though they barely got further, because Emmet was a goddamn pretty horse and photos were being taken.

  
  
"Emmet you are about as subtle as a lampshade in a whorehouse." Phil announced once they got free of that crowd and approximately half the female population of the city had rubbed Emmet's nose.

  
  
The LMD just laughed.

  
  
This was a nice break, honestly. Yeah it's outside in a massive metropolis, they haven't escaped the concrete jungle but he hasn't been horseback riding in forever. Though honestly this probably counts as something closer to motorcycle riding.

  
  
He's got his tie open and his top two buttons undone, face up to the sun and just enjoying the afternoon when he catches a glint of sunlight. He twisted to look, because with all the people and glass in this city it could be anything then Emmet is bucking him off.

  
  
He didn't have time to react, just managed not to horribly break himself on landing as he heard the telltale crack of a gun. The park is never empty so immediately civilians screamed and ditched, and he stayed down with Emmet standing over him looking more like a monster than a horse, bristled and snarling before digging in and charging.

  
  
The gunman and his colleagues didn't stand a chance as a ton of metal slammed into them at seventy miles an hour. One of the accomplices died immediately as Emmet's hooves came down on his skull. The second went down in a bloody shrieking pile then Emmet was biting the gunman's shoulder. There were gunshots during this but they didn't even spook Emmet, who threw the gunman to the ground and set a foot on him, blood smeared up one forelimb and around his mouth, still as a statue.

  
  
Phil rolled to his feet and walked over, straightening up as he did so, staring at the bleeding gunman. "Fuck you guys, I was having a great day."

  
  
"Fuck you and your notahorse, Nazi scum."

  
  
He shared a look with Emmet, both of them already writing off this particular waste of air even as sirens wailed nearby, and Phil wondered if he should buy the no-longer-used bulletproof Popemobile because he'd narrowly missed getting shot by an idiot.

  
  
"I have informed the tower, sir, Iron Man, Hawkeye and Black Widow are coming. I did say I handled it." Emmet sounded annoyed, ears flattening back.

  
  
"They're worried and Tony is fastest and can put eyes on the scene." Phil replied, leaning on Emmet. "Red looks good on you."

  
  
"Ruins my cover though."

  
  
"True."

  
  
The first cops arrived with weapons drawn to find Phil with his hands up holding his badge and Emmet with his badge in his mouth, both waiting patiently.

  
  
"Okay. Who wants to explain this clusterfuck." The first asked, taking in the sight of one mangled corpse, two survivors and an assortment of weapons smashed under a hydraulically driven horse hoof.

  
  
"I'm Acting SHIELD Director Coulson, this is Agent Emmet." Phil replied. "Say hi, Emmet."

  
  
"Hi, Emmet." Emmet said obediently around his badge.

  
  
"Talking horse." Second cop noted.

  
  
"Not a horse! A demon!" The gunman supplied.

  
  
"Oh fucking spare me from stupid villains." Phil groaned. "Asshole tried to shoot me; Emmet noticed and ruined their day."

  
  
"Well aren't you having a fun day." Tony landed, staring at the scene. "There, Clint, you have visual on the Director, happy now?"

  
  
"No and I'm fucking going to kill him myself!" Clint's voice replied.

  
  
Emmet, meanwhile, was stepping delicately out of the crime scene after one of the cops took photos of his stock still pose, blood splatters and all. Once clear of the survivors they were cuffed and given to the EMTs, who at least probably hadn't seen 'bite from robot horse' this week.

  
  
Phil wondered what code the hospital would put it under.

  
  
"You're going into shock." Tony said, staring at him.

  
  
He snorted. "No, just wondering how I attracted this stupid of a villain."

  
  
"He's a Nazi spy!" The gunman whined.

  
  
"Can I have some water? A bottle is fine." Emmet told a cop. The EMTs had some and a cop opened it for him, watching as Emmet wrapped his lips around the bottle then threw his head back, drinking it all then spitting some out. It came back pink. "I forgot how disgusting blood was, ick."

  
  
"So, now that my life is a fever dream, shall we sit and wait for Clint to scream at me for my obvious stupidity and irresponsibility?" Phil asked, looking at Tony.

  
  
Tony put his mask up and nodded as he laughed.


End file.
